Sinking Sun
by cathster
Summary: As Harry Potter battles for the world, Ginny Weasley wonders who she has become. Please R&R!


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley. Or Voldemort, otherwise I would make him die in lots of torturous ways. They all belong to JK Rowling – but surely you already knew that? If not, why are you here?

**Summary: **As Harry Potter battles for the world, Ginny Weasley wonders who she has become. Please R&R!

**SINKING SUN**

It was almost like a movie, Ginevra Weasley thought wryly, and she was one of the extras, hiding in the background only to be discovered ten minutes into the scene and killed. It sent shivers down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around her thin body, closing her eyes briefly against the mere, painful thought. Standing well aside from where the main battle raged, she felt detached as she watched curses fly back and forth with unhesitant venom, wanted to close her ears against the sounds of screams, triumphant laughs, agonised sobs... the harsh breath of the dying juddering to a stop. Her sweating hand clutched desperately at her wand, and she longed to go out there, fight for her friends and family, fight for _him_, but she knew that she was useless. She was the amateur cop in those Muggle films that shot one bullet from her gun that only just nicked the skin of the enemy, and was then killed with her own gun. Tears welling in her dark eyes, she shook her hair back from her face, hating her weakness, her terror at the thought of facing Him again, hating that because of a stupid mistake in her first year, she was too petrified to save others' lives.

Save lives just like he had saved hers. Just like he was saving lives right now, a determination in his green eyes, spinning and ducking with amazing skill, occasionally letting out small yelps of glory as his opponent fell, but not pausing for more than a split-second before turning to the next. He never paused when he was saving lives, while she, Ginny, couldn't even start. The bitterness overwhelmed her as tears pooled down her cheeks, as she tried desperately to move her feet, do anything, _something_, to help him, but she felt rooted to the spot. If she didn't know better, she would swear it had been magic, but no. It was just a little girl's nightmare that she didn't want to relive. A little girl who had gone away a long time ago.

She wished more than anything in the world that she could be more an extra, more than the cop that died ten minutes into the film. She dreamed about it nightly, dreamed of being the one they referred to as Harry Potter's love of his life. She wanted to be the redheaded Weasley girl that had stolen his heart and given hers in return. To be the one that sat by his bedside after the end and nurse him back to health. She wanted to be the one that died for him. The girl whose memory would live on in him and everyone else, the saviour of Harry Potter. She dreamed that they were married, with a hoarde of redheaded and raven haired children, who loved each other with passion and tenderness even far into their old age.

She had dreamt that when the inevitable day of war came, she would be out there with him, standing by his side. But it had come, and she was standing in the shadows, mourning the loss of the love that had never existed.

The air had grown thick with dust and dirt, the horrific stench of burning flesh and blood reaching her nostrils and making her retch. Through the haze of the dusk, she saw swift, desperate movements, and realised that they were losing. She watched as they all started to fall, silently, without protest, and hated herself even more. She saw him stumble, his face creased in pain, his right arm dangling uselessly by his side and his left hand shooting out curses at random, still trying with immense concentration to hold on to the wand through a set of broken fingers. His movements had become slow, far too slowly to duck curses, and she screamed inwardly as a jet of green light hurtled towards him. No, not hurtled. It was going just as slowly as him, and she realised that she was watching it all in slow motion, as if through a pair of Omnioculars. He dived out of the way, tripping on a deadened root of a tree, but jumped just as swiftly to his feet, and she was aware of her breathing growing more ragged, loud, terrified. Everything had slowed. This was her chance.

She could be her own hero, or that cowardly little girl she had been in her first year could come back and haunt her once more. There was no time. Tightening her grasp on her wand, she stepped out into the line of fire, her face turned up to the thick, murky sky with a glint of steel in her eyes. And then she stood by his side. He glanced towards her, brilliant green eyes wide with surprise at her sudden appearance, and she felt a surge of unrequited love for him. "Ginny!" He gasped through numb lips. Her heart jolted. "Gin… you've got to get out of here. He's coming – you can't be here, please, you have to go." Was he _concerned _for her?

She shook her head at herself in irritation. Now was far from being a good time to wonder whether or not Harry Potter actually cared about her. She was in the middle of a battlefield – worse than that, she was standing right in front of the man that had caused all the destruction, all the death, the pain… the man that had very nearly killed her.

She started when it sank in that Voldemort was there. Standing right in front of her and Harry, his wand raised, held in a steady hand. She had never seen him before in the flesh – only his former self, the memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the cruel seventeen-year-old boy. This thing was much worse. His crimson eyes were no more than a slit, his thin lips twisted into an ugly sneer. Scars ran down both sides of his face, showing his deformity… she felt like she was going to retch again as he threw back his tiny head and roared a hollow laugh. Beside her, she felt Harry writhe in pain.

"Ginny!" Another yell. Her brother. She prayed for him to stay away, not to do the thing that she had dreamed she would do for Harry. Not Ron. She heard him yell again, this time in pain, and out of the corner of her eye watched him fall just short of her, where he lay, still and silent. Tears burned behind her eyelids but she continued to stare forward, straight at Voldemort, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she could swear that everyone else could hear it. Harry whispered her name again from below her, and she forced herself to look down to her feet, where he looked up at her, his eyes full of agony, worry… love? Even despite the dire situation she was in, she cursed herself inwardly for confusing her dreams with reality. This was reality. And Harry didn't love her. He never would.

"Just get out of here, Ginny." His voice cut into her thoughts again, and she realised that Voldemort was moving closer, just feet in front of her, his wand aiming dangerously near to her temple. "Please… I can't bear it if you died. Just get Ron and Hermione… and go."

His words sank in. What was he saying? Everything had slowed again, his words making hardly any sense. He sounded a million miles away, yet he was right there. He pressed his palms flat on the ground and pushed himself back up into a standing position, wobbling precariously. Instinctively, Ginny grabbed his arm to steady him and he turned to look at her. Tears shone in his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, shaking her head fiercely. "I'm not leaving you."

"You have to." He winced, clumsily trying to grasp his wand in his fingers, and raised it between him and the Dark Lord. In that moment, Ginny saw the tears vanish from his eyes and a shield shoot up across his mind. In their place was, once again, determination. Revenge. Anger. So many had died at Voldemort's bloodstained hands, so many that Ginny realised Harry believed was his own fault. The deaths that had tainted his life, made it one of continuous sorrow, desperation, grief… Cedric. Sirius. His parents. She didn't remove her hand from his arm.

"Foolish girl." Voldemort spat at her, his face twisted into a delighted sneer. "Just like his mother. Get out of my way." He moved closer, and she felt Harry falter under her hand. Clutching him tighter, she summoned up the courage to stare him straight into the hollow, blood-red eyes, and felt as if her insides had all fallen out. A chill swept through her body and for one, desperate moment, Ginny was sure that she would never be warm again.

Then Harry covered her hand with his own, bruised one, and looked at her pleadingly, even as Voldemort continued to demand her to get out of his way. "Ginny, please," he whispered, clutching her hand so hard it hurt. "I couldn't bear it… if you die, I – I don't know what I'll do."

She was aware of her heart throbbing in her throat, but it wasn't the terror. No, it was something much worse. It was the realisation that one of them was going to die that day. One of them… or both. Her jaw strengthened, and she stared straight back at him through dry eyes. Harry Potter had been the Boy Who Lived.

And so he would live.

She wrenched her hand from his arm, felt him stumble beside her, confused, and turned to find herself only inches from that _thing_ that had made their lives living hell. She heard him whisper her name once more, pleadingly, heard Voldemort's cruel laugh, and pressed the cool wood of her wand to his temple, shuddering as another chill spread through her.

"_Avada kedavra."_

Her eyes widened as she heard the words spin through the air, but her mouth had not even started to form them. A jet of green light spread around the three of them, engulfing them, and she heard screams, echoing from further away then growing closer, paining her ears. Someone was laughing, another was crying, but they were all screaming in their minds. An ultimatum of pain shot through her chest, an unbearable agony that left spots behind her lids and spun the world around her. As she felt herself crumple, she was vaguely aware of the sound of a body hitting the ground near her, and found that her cheeks were wet with tears that she didn't even know she was crying.

When Ginny Weasley had been shown a film in Muggle Studies, she had immediately picked out who she would have been through the characters. There were the ones with no-names, who passed on the street and called out words that no one paid any heed to. Then there was the hero, the tall, dark, handsome man who always came out on top, even if there was someone better. There were the faithful side-kicks that had their special traits, and were the closest out of all of them to the hero. And then there was the extra, the one that tried desperately to be a side-kick but always found themselves one step short. Ginny saw her face in the place of the Muggle actor, the girl who tried desperately to be noticed and as a result became even more invisible. She was the tag-along, the best friend's little sister, the one with the hopeless crush that made everyone shake their heads and smile and say it was "cute". Looking back, Ginny agreed. She had had a "cute" crush. But it had developed into love that she believed would never be returned. She went through her life believing she was still the extra, hopelessly in love with the hero that would barely give her the time of day. She was still the one who dreamt of him at night and tried desperately to cling to those dreams that faded through her touch and became nothing but a mere, sheltered memory.

What Ginny had failed to notice was that her role had, over the years, become much more than an extra's part. She hadn't realised until it was too late, until she found herself staring up at the murky, thick grey sky, and felt as though she would never see the blue again. She had loved Harry Potter, yet he had been invisible to her. She had seen the little boy that she had met before she had even started at Hogwarts. She had seen him in her first year as a courageous, if slightly dim boy. Then she saw him as the oblivious, typically male Harry Potter who based his crushes solely on looks, who treated her exactly as Ron did, and that was when she stopped watching him change. She continued to see him as her brother's best friend, the one who couldn't tell she was in love with him from a mile off, and believed that he still saw her as his best friend's little sister. Well, that was wrong.

Really, she was as bad as him, because she had never noticed he was in love with her either. They were a pair of teenagers hopelessly in love and hopelessly oblivious. She felt the tears continue to drip unhindered down her cold cheeks as she struggled to sit up, pain shooting through her back, her side, her chest… her heart. The dust was settling, and people were moving, slowly, haltingly, almost scared to approach them. To see the inevitable.

A man lay where Voldemort had once stood. Tall, white-faced, with a mop of dark hair. His face was still twisted into a disgusted sneer, his brown eyes wide, lifeless, and staring straight at Ginny. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, unable to comprehend. Voldemort was dead.

Beside her, someone stirred, a cough rattling in his throat that made Ginny wince, then turn in shock. _Harry_. He was curled on his side, in a foetus position, his wand dangling from his broken fingers, staring at her through tearful eyes. She crawled over to him, openly sobbing, and touched his face. It was so cold and clammy. He forced a smile that seemed far from his eyes, and she buried her face in his bloodied robes, rocking back and forth as she felt the dam that had hidden all her emotions for Harry Potter rupture and break, spreading over him.

"You're alive," she choked, pulling back and looking over him searchingly. He hesitated, reached out a shattered hand and touched her own, small fingers. "Hold on… we'll get help. Someone will help."

He shook his head, and a cry escaped his lips as pain shot through him. "No, Ginny." He told her, closing his eyes as she broke down once more, her sobs breaking his heart. "The Killing Curse… it hit me."

"But you're still alive. You're going to be okay," she insisted, and he found himself smiling at her familiar stubborn streak despite the increasing pain that was numbing him from head to toe. The Killing Curse was doing exactly what it was supposed to do. Kill him. Slowly.

As if she could read his mind, she drew back, gasping in horror, and her tears stopped, realisation dawning in her beautifully dark eyes. "Oh Merlin… does it hurt, Harry?" He wished he could shake his head, reassure her, stop those crystal tears, but he didn't want to lie. Not now.

"I – I didn't want you to die." He told her through cracked lips, placing a hand on her knee, squeezing it as gently as he could through the pain that felt as if it were cracking his bones. She shook her head fiercely. "Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine_." She put her hand over his, remembering what had happened in the opposite gesture earlier, and wondered suddenly if she had made a mistake. If she hadn't been so damned stubborn and argumentative, if she had kept out of the way, maybe things wouldn't have turned out this way. He looked as if he were reading her thoughts, for he shook his head once more, more vigorously.

"Don't, Ginny. This isn't your fault. Remember that _none of it is your fault_. You – you saved a lot of lives today."

"No, I didn't." She whispered. "No, you did. I made it worse."

"You made me believe." Harry said hoarsely. She frowned at him, cocking her head in confusion. "Gin… you made me realise that it's not just about the hero and the enemy. It's about everything in between as well." He reached up, wincing, and touched her deathly cold face. "And you saved it all."

"But I didn't save you." She turned away, taking his hand and gently resting it on the deadened grass. People were keeping a respectful distance, she realised, and then thought with a jolt what that meant. They knew that there was no hope for him. That Voldemort was dead, and soon, so would Harry Potter be.

"Yes, you did." He smiled up at her, and, for the first time in months, his eyes sparkled with life. With life and death. "This was what I was born for, Ginny. Remember the prophecy. My destiny's fulfilled now. And you made it so."

"Screw the prophecy!" She yelled at him. "Why? Why did this have to be your destiny? It's not fair, Harry. After everything… it shouldn't have to end this way. It's _not fair_."

He lifted his shoulders into a slight shrug. "Voldemort is dead. People can live their lives without fear now. It – it feels nice to know that I'm not going to… in vain. That I have saved, and so have you."

She swiped at her muddied face and scowled at him. "You always did enjoy making a drama out of everything, didn't you, Harry Potter?"

He laughed slightly, his lungs contracting painfully. "I learn from the best." He told her, and sighed deeply. "Gin…"

She knew, instantly, what he was going to say, and pressed her hand to his mouth, shaking her head. "Don't. Please, don't, Harry. It'll… it'll just make it harder."

After that day, Ginny Weasley watched Muggle films devotedly, and silently told the extras, the characters that only existed in her mind and heart, that they all had a purpose, and they were no less important than the hero or villain. She had never been an extra as she had believed for most of her life. She had been the hero, just like everyone else.

So, as the sun sank beneath the golden hills, she felt his soul fly free, tickling her hand as it escaped with his last breath, and it danced off to join all the other souls, the innocents that had died on that day, his parents, Sirius, strangers, all of them who were just as important as Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley.


End file.
